The Return of Emily Grace
by NancyMay
Summary: Chapter 1, A Crooked Smile. This is my first foray into the Murdoch fandom as a writer. I usually write for Dr Blake or Miss Fisher. I have never liked Emily Grace leaving and have often wondered if I could get her back. This is a little idea I had which I hope you like. There are 3 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Emily tried to fit in, to find work befitting a qualified doctor but it was difficult. The hospitals pooh-poohed her Canadian qualifications, dismissed her with a wave of their collective hands and she was left wondering how she was going to pay her way in London. It had been Lilian's dream to join the suffragette movement and for a time it was hers. She found the ideals were behind that of her native Canada and it frustrated her, or was it that she could only secure a post as a nurse, rather than a doctor, and a room in the nurse's home. Still at least she had a roof over her head but she missed her independence and the intelligent conversations in the morgue.

The other nurses regarded her as something of an oddity. They were always on the lookout for a single doctor and gossiped about other nurses while she would sit reading medical texts, the latest discoveries in the clinical field and out of date copies of the Toronto Star that she had shipped over. Over the months she realised she was always looking for news of the latest goings on at Station House Four, Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree.

She missed George. She tried not to, but she missed him.

It was looking as if it was going to be a damp and dull Christmas. She missed the crisp cold of Canada and the snow, it just rained in England, at least that's what it seemed to her, and the damp seeped into her bones and made her joints ache.

It was an incident in the morgue that had her make her decision: she had accompanied a body down to the coroner and handed over the details of the woman's illness and subsequent passing. She got this duty often as none of the other nurses liked going to that part of the hospital and it suited her, gently pestering the doctor to at least let her observe. He generally refused, imagining her fainting the moment he opened up the body.

"Patient is Mrs Mildred Askham, aged thirty-eight years," she read, "brought into the hospital having been found collapsed in the street."

"Another drunkard," the coroner, Dr Wardman, muttered.

"Actually, no," Emily looked up, "found to be heavily bruised ..."

"Thank you, nurse, I can read," he huffed, holding out his hand for the notes.

She sighed and handed over the papers and made to leave. Emily was certain Mrs Askham was murdered or at least her death was suspicious. A man, claiming to be her husband, had visited her and demanded to know when she would be returning home, the house needed tending to and the children needed their mother. Mrs Askham had looked terrified at the prospect and Emily was certain it was he who had inflicted such injuries upon her. However, she should not have died, her injuries whilst many and painful were not life threatening. So what had happened?

Mrs Askham had died during one of his visits, behind the curtains he had drawn round her bed. No member of the nursing staff had questioned this though curtains were only drawn when a patient was being attended to by a nurse or had died and was being prepared for either the morgue or for the funeral director, but at the end of visiting, when the curtains were drawn back Mildred Askham was dead.

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"It is not our duty to question how Mrs Askham died, Nurse Grace," the sister in charge of the ward had grumbled, "now go and change the bed."

Emily frowned but, as she could not afford to lose her job, she went to strip the bed of its soiled linen and clean down the mattress. The pillows were piled up on the chair and as she took off the second pillow slip she noticed staining, from saliva she guessed, in the middle, a tear in the slip and the pillow itself - to her eyes, fairly well practised from her time with Julia Ogden and William Murdoch, Mrs Askham had been smothered. She put the pillow on top of the laundry and wheeled the hamper to the lift and took it down to the laundry room. She lifted the pillow and thought about what she should do next. At home she would have gone to Julia who would have called Detective Murdoch who would have immediately set out for the home of the Askham family and probably arrested Mr Askham on the spot. To her it seemed like a cut and dried case. However, she needed to know if there was evidence of suffocation on the body and the only way she could find that out was by going down to the morgue and checking the mouth for a feather. With the tear in the pillow there was bound to be one. She headed to the morgue in the hope that Dr Wardman had left for the day.

He hadn't but she had come this far and confronted him.

"Did you determine how Mrs Askham died?" her voice was all innocence, her face not quite so.

"Natural causes," he harrumphed, "heart gave out."

"Oh," she thought for a moment, "just, I wondered, her pillow, signs of suffocation ..."

Twaddle," he sneered, "how could that happen in a hospital ward?"

"The curtains were drawn round the bed when her husband visited," she shrugged, "he could have done it."

"Now you listen here, young lady," he stepped right up close and she could see the open pores on his nose and smell his stale breath, "she died of natural causes, her husband will take the body and have it buried, nothing to do with us."

"Can I ..." she moved to the cabinet where the bodies were stored.

"No!" he pushed her out of the morgue, "and stay out!"

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She stood outside the nearest police station, the pillow in a bag and chewed her lip. Finally deciding this was the only thing she could do to find out the truth she pushed open the door and stood by the desk.

"Now then, Miss," a sergeant smiled gently at her from behind the desk, "what can we do for you?"

He reminded her of Inspector Brackenreid, right down to the sideburns and moustache. He had a twinkle in his eye, too, and she felt that she may be able to get some retribution for Mrs Askham. She introduced herself and smiled then told him the story and showed him the pillow.

"Well, Miss," he nodded, "I don't know, but let's see if our detective can make something of it."

Of course she didn't expect Detective Murdoch, but neither did she expect to be dismissed quite so unceremoniously as she was.

"I just wanted Mrs Askham to be treated fairly," she muttered as she was led out by the kindly sergeant.

"It wasn't," he looked at her, "_Mildred_ Askham, was it?"

"Aha," she nodded, "thirty-eight years of age, three children, I think, one much older than the other two ..."

"I know a family by that name," he mused, "Jed Askham - supposedly god fearin' but beats his wife something chronic, and as for the little 'uns ... well ..."

"Sounds about right, Mrs Askham always worried about a little boy she called Peter and a little girl, but I don't know her name," Emily stopped and looked at him, "what do I do now?"

"You still on duty?" he asked, frowning.

"No, not until tomorrow, now. Why?"

"I get off in an hour, can you wait for me?" he could see she wasn't one to give up easily. "There's a tea shop around the corner ..."

"Alright," she felt a little jolt of hope.

"Good, I'll meet you there."

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An hour was long enough for the sergeant, Bert Green, to decide he had to do something about Mrs Askham's death. He knew Jed from his frequent stays in the cells, usually drunk and often with bruised knuckles. Mildred sometimes fought back. He knew the kiddies, Peter and Ruth, grubby little urchins that would hide behind the couch in terror when their father was in one of his rages.

"Good," he smiled as he stepped inside the tea shop, "you waited." He sat down and the waitress brought him his usual cup of tea and toasted tea cake as he told her what he knew of the Askham family. She was right when she said one of the children was older than the other two, she was twenty and worked as a scullery maid in one of the large houses in Belgravia, an affluent area of town.

"She gets one Sunday afternoon a month off and rarely used it to go and see her family. Jed is her stepfather, which may be the reason she doesn't visit." He sipped his tea, "it's the little 'uns I feel for," he continued, "the workhouse for them, Jed can't look after them."

Emily shuddered, she had heard stories of the workhouses and didn't like what she heard, "so what do we do?"

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What they did was rash, and worked to a degree.

Bert took her to the run down area that the Askham's lived in. The house was a terrace, with dirty windows and peeling paint on the door. Bert knocked and in his best policeman's voice shouted, "Jed Askham! Sergeant Green, open up!"

While they waited Emily tried to see in through the grimy window. She thought she could see shadows, small ones but there was a definite flicker of movement. She went back to stand with Bert.

"I saw something, but too small to be Mr Askham," she whispered, "one of the children?"

"Pete?" Sergeant Green leant against the door, "Peter lad, can you open the door?"

There was a scrabbling at the door and a click and the door was opened a little and a big blue eye blinked in the half light. Bert bent down and smiled gently.

"Hello, Peter, can I come in? I've brought a friend with me."

Peter opened the door and stepped back into the gloom of the hallway staring at the floor and pushing his small sister behind him, coppers calling meant trouble.

"Your dad in?" Bert asked, always keeping his voice low and soft. Peter nodded towards the back of the house. "Right," Bert nodded, "this here's Miss Grace," he indicated Emily standing just behind him, "she's a friend."

Emily was not used to children except those she treated in the hospital but she bent down and smiled. "Hello, Peter," she held out her hand, "so pleased to meet you, is that," she looked behind him, "your sister?"

Peter nodded and swallowed. He took her hand and pulled the little scrap from behind him, "'s Ruthie," he whispered.

"Hello Ruthie," she murmured, "aren't you a sweet little thing?" And in truth she was; tiny, matted dirty fair hair, a tatty pinafore over a faded blue dress and pale grey eyes as big as the moon, but underneath it all still sweet.

The little girl stepped from bare foot to bare foot and stuck two dirty fingers in her mouth as she observed the lady looking at her.

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In the only other downstairs room Bert found Jed Askham in a drunken stupor and hauled him to his feet.

"Git up!" he grunted, "Mildred ..."

"Wha ...? " Askham blinked and swallowed, "bloody nag."

"She's not coming back and you know why," Sergeant Green held him up.

"Wouldn't shut up," Jed mumbled, "nag, nag, nag ..."

"So you shut her up, eh?"

"What of it?"

"Jeez, you take the biscuit you do, not content with beating her you then smother her to death and you think it doesn't matter. You're for the rope," Bert turned him round and put his handcuffs on him, this was a confession.

As he pushed him to the front Emily pulled the children to the side. "What about Peter and Ruthie?" she whispered, "we can't leave them here, on their own."

"Any neighbours you can go to, son?" he looked down at Peter whose fear showed on his dirty face.

Peter shook his head, all the neighbours avoided them like the plague. One had tried to intervene when Mildred was being beaten but had got the same treatment, and now everyone steered clear of them.

"Best bring 'em with us," Bert sighed.

Emily looked down at them, Peter had a torn shirt and trousers on, a pair of old boots on his feet, he would freeze outside.

"Have either of you got coats?" though she doubted it and Peter confirmed her suspicions. "Shawl, blanket?"

Peter left them for a minute and returned with a shawl that must have been his mother's. Emily fastened it round him and picked up Ruthie, wrapping her in her cloak and holding her close. With bare feet she couldn't expect the child to walk.

Peter didn't ask where they were going or what had happened to his mother, perhaps he knew. His life had been a series of beatings, watching his mother get beaten and little food or love, but Emily still didn't like the idea of him and Ruthie going to the workhouse.

Bert had similar thoughts as they marched Jed Askham to the station and to his ultimate fate. He didn't struggle or argue, just seemed to accept that this time he wasn't going to get away with his crime. There was nothing else for it, they would have to come home with him. He lived with his sister, neither had married but shared the house their parents had lived in. It was large enough and oftentimes they had wondered about taking in lodgers but never got round to it. He didn't know how Adelaide felt about children, he wasn't sure how he felt about them either - they would just have to see what worked.

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In the station the children were set on a bench and given sweet tea, cooled down by the addition of plenty of milk, while their father was questioned about the death of his wife. Another sergeant was sent, with Emily, to the morgue to look at the body.

"Don't take Wardman's word for it," the Inspector huffed, "it was easier to say natural causes," he looked at Emily. "You say you've done this kind of work before?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded, "in Toronto, I was the coroner for a while."

"Right," he drew his brows together, "well, go to it."

"I'll be back, Peter," she assured the little boy, "just got to do something for the police."

"'s mum, ain't it, Miss?" he sniffed, "'e done 'er in, din't 'e?"

"I'm so sorry Peter," she patted his head, "but we'll take care of you and Ruthie, somehow you won't got to the workhouse, I promise."

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"You mean that," the sergeant nodded back at the station as they headed to the morgue, "that the kiddies won't go to the workhouse?"

"Over my dead body," Emily harrumphed, "even if I have to take them on myself." The decision she had made earlier would have to be put on the back burner, so to speak.

He could see she wasn't a woman to be trifled with and any woman who could work in a morgue was pretty strong, in his eyes.

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Wardman was wiping his hands after closing up the body of a man who had been stabbed in a bar fight. He glared at Emily, "I told you to stay out!"

"Dr Grace is helping the police with their inquiries," the sergeant stepped forward, "we should like to look at the body of Mildred Askham," he stared at Dr Wardman and waited.

"Over there," he nodded in the direction of the cold storage and went on with whatever he was doing - trying to look busy, Emily thought, so he could listen in on her conversation.

They pulled the gurney out with Mrs Askham's body on and lifted the sheet off her battered face.

Emily gently pulled the jaw down and peered in. "Torch please," she held out her hand. The sergeant looked round and found one on the bench. He placed it in her hand and watched as she shone it into the mouth.

"Aha," she hummed, "tweezers," she held out her hand again and smiled as she felt the police officer place them firmly in her palm. She handed him the torch and asked him to hold it steady while she poked the tweezers into the mouth and carefully retrieved a feather.

"As I thought, sergeant, Mrs Askham was smothered by the pillow. She must have fought back, struggled, because she tore the case," she held up the feather almost triumphantly.

"Murder then, doctor," he grumbled.

"Indeed, and Mr Askham has confessed," she placed the feather in his palm while she covered the face up again and pushed the body into the storage.

"Seems you were a bit lacking in your examination, Dr Wardman," the sergeant addressed this remark to a blushing doctor, "should have listened to Dr Grace here."

Wardman blustered and glared at Emily, but had nothing to say.

"Best re do the death certificate," Emily suggested, "for the records, you know."

With a new, and correct, death certificate and the feather tucked in an envelope and stored in the policeman's pocket the two investigators headed back to the station.

While they had been gone Jed Askham had tried to wriggle out of his confession but in the end Sergeant Green 'persuaded' him to admit it. He was led away to the cells to await a trial, though the Inspector thought it would be a short one. The feather and death certificate were added to the file and attention turned to the two children, now asleep on the bench.

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"Not the workhouse," Emily looked at Bert, "please, surely there's something else we can do, isn't there?"

"Well, their sister don't want 'em," he replied, "but," he heaved a sigh, "I rang my sister. We share the house our parents had, it's a bit big for the two of us and she has agreed to give it a go, have the kiddies, at least until something else can be worked out ..."

"There's a 'but', isn't there, Sergeant Green?" Emily sat down.

"Neither of us is in the first flush of youth, miss, and we know nothing about children save we were kids once," he smiled, "Adelaide has suggested that you take one of the rooms too, as a lodger, make sure we do it right." He sat opposite her and waited. HIs sister had said it was the only way she would agree to have children in the house, she would look after them when Emily was at the hospital but when she was off duty they would be her responsibility.

Emily thought about this offer. She thought she understood what Miss Green meant and she would at least be able oversee their health and well being. The other side to it was she didn't really like living in the nurse's home and perhaps taking lodgings would be more comfortable, at least she thought conversations would be more interesting.

She agreed.

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Adelaide Green was a small, bird like woman with a twinkle in her eye like her brother, Emily took to her immediately. She had spent the time between the phone call and the arrival of the 'lodgers' sorting out bedrooms. She put the children in a room together as she didn't think separating them just yet would be a good thing to do. How she had moved the extra bed neither Emily nor Bert could work out, but she had and it stood opposite another in the room, clean linen and warm blankets were ready for the children to snuggle under. Emily's room was next door, light and airy with a double bed, chest of drawers and wardrobe that she would never fill in a month of Sundays!

Throughout all this Peter had kept quiet just watched and waited, and Ruthie sucked her fingers.

"First things first," Miss Green stiffened her shoulders, "baths for these two."

"Excellent," Emily looked down at the children, "what do you think, Peter? A nice warm bath."

Peter had never had a bath, nice and warm or otherwise; a cold flannel over the face occasionally was all they got, so he wasn't actually sure what she meant.

He was pleased to find it wasn't too bad, not too bad at all. Miss Green hadn't put too much water in the bath and she was gentle when she washed him while Miss Emily saw to Ruthie who remained steadfastly silent. Once they were clean the only thing to be dealt with was the rampant head-lice so after discussion and with heavy hearts the two ladies decided they would have to cut or even shave the hair from their little heads.

"It will grow back, doctor," Adelaide gave her her proper title, "quite soon, I'm sure."

"True," Emily nodded sadly, "well, we need to reassure Peter that, and Ruthie."

"Is she quite alright?" Adelaide pursed her lips, "she hasn't said a word, or cried ..."

"She does react to noise, so I am sure she isn't deaf, perhaps she just needs time, perhaps she was punished for making a noise, of any kind."

"Hm, well, we'll see," Adelaide shrugged.

"You see, Peter," Emily crouched down in front of him, "if we are to rid you of that dreadful itching on both your heads we need to get rid of the hair. It will grow back and if we keep it clean you shouldn't have any more trouble."

"'n' Ruthie's?" he frowned.

"All her curls will grow back, she'll be as pretty as a picture," Emily smiled.

"Ok," he sighed, "best do me first, then she won't be frit."

"Good boy," she stood up and guided him back into the bathroom.

They cut the hair then Adelaide used Bert's razor to shave both their little heads exposing little scabs and scars from the constant scratching. Emily sighed and picked up Ruthie, wrapping her in a soft towel; she was so tiny, undernourished and probably smaller than she should be for her age, whatever that was. She turned to Peter.

"Peter, do you know how old you are?"

He shrugged, "no, me da'll know."

"I'll ask Sergeant Green to check tomorrow, then," she smiled, "but for now I believe Miss Green has some soup ready for you and then to bed."

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With the children in bed and a decent hot meal inside them, the adults sat in the parlour with a sherry for the ladies and a beer for Bert and discussed what they needed to do next.

"I don't expect anyone will be worried about two orphans from the wrong end of town," Bert mused, "they rarely are."

"Could we be appointed as guardians?" Emily hummed, "or one of us, anyway."

"You'd be best for that, Miss," Adelaide sighed, "y' got youth on your side ..."

"A single woman ..." she raised her eyebrows.

"We're all single, girl," Bert reminded her, "I wouldn't say anything about it, just let's keep the kiddies until someone notices.

"Well, at least we're saving the workhouse or children's home money by taking them in," it was an offhand comment, but ...

"You could have something there, Miss," Adelaide nodded, "they're always crying out for money, claiming folk like this is a drain on society."

"Well, let's try that then, if they come calling," Emily sipped her sherry and wondered about the legality of the whole situation.

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Emily didn't get a proper night's sleep, wondering and worrying about the enormity of the situation. The only support in this 'endeavour' was a police officer and his sister who she barely knew. She was kept awake by the thought of all the things she had to do, clothes she had to buy, their education, who she was to them, and through it all she had to earn enough to keep the three of them, so now she really had to keep her nursing post.

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Nothing was said to Emily the following day when she arrived for her shift on the hospital ward. Nobody remarked they hadn't seen her in the home the previous evening, or that the police had spoken to the ward sister about Mrs Askham so for the time being she was able to relax. However, as the days following the murder passed she noticed a cooling to a positively frosty air every time she appeared on duty. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

During the day, when Emily was at the hospital, Peter and Ruth spent their time in the house with Adelaide. She had rooted out a few old toys, a rag doll, some toy soldiers and a whip and top that could be used in the small back yard. She also gave them paper and pencils to draw with and decided that at least Peter could be taught his letters and numbers. Bert had discovered the ages of the children by questioning their father. They were around seven and four, Ruthie having been born the day of Queen Victoria's funeral and Peter was three at the time - so he mumbled in the police cell.

Emily had bought them some clothes: new undergarments and nightwear, trousers and shirts for Peter and dresses for Ruthie. She bought them just enough for the time being, until they knew what was going to happen, if they would be allowed to be guardians, or more precisely, if she would be allowed to be a guardian to them, if anybody cared.

She noticed that loud noises made both of them jump and Ruthie would hide behind her brother until he reassured her that she wasn't about to be beaten.

"'S'ok, Ruthie," he would hug her, "we're safe here. Miss Green and the Sergeant, and Miss Emily, they want to help us so you don't need to be scared."

Emily thought he was very wise for one so young.

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As the trial approached, Bert told Emily she would be required to appear and give evidence.

"Oh," she gasped, "must I?"

"Most likely you'll be called," he nodded.

She stood firm in the court. Gave her answers to the questions as to how she found the evidence that showed, or seemed to show, that Mrs Askham had been smothered, denied she had an axe to grind towards the hospital or to Mr Askham, just that she thought there was more to Mrs Askham's death than first appeared, and when she spotted the saliva stain and tearing in the pillow she thought it needed investigating.

"You have some interest in such things?" the judge asked, intrigued.

"I was, for a time, the coroner in Toronto, Canada, your honour," she nodded, "I helped in the investigation of cases with the police there."

The judge raised an eyebrow and made a note.

The ward sister was called to answer questions about the running of the ward and the likelihood that a patient could be murdered right under her nose.

"The curtains were drawn round the bed," she muttered, "I couldn't see what was going on."

"And is it usual for curtains to be drawn round a bed during visiting times?" she was asked.

"Er, well, no, we don't encourage it."

"So, Mr Askham didn't ask for that privacy to talk to his wife, then?"

"He didn't, and I wouldn't have given the permission either," she huffed.

"Yet you let it happen, you did not go and pull the curtains back?"

She shook her head. "Maybe you should ask that Nurse Grace," she snapped, "pushing her nose into things that don't concern her."

"Sister," the judge looked down his nose, "Dr Grace is not in charge of your ward."

It did not go unnoticed that he referred to Emily by her correct title. Sister pursed her lips in annoyance.

"And it concerns every citizen if they know of wrongdoing, it is right that she brought it to the attention of the police."

As she left the court room she wondered how easy it would be to get rid of Emily Grace.

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Christmas was fast approaching and there was some excitement in the Green house. Adelaide had arranged for a tree to be put up in the parlour which had Peter stand open mouthed. She sent Bert up into the attic to retrieve the decorations they had used as children and while Emily was at the hospital and Bert was at the station one day, she and the children decorated the tree. Even Ruthie became more animated.

It wasn't exactly neat or considered, the decoration, but it was done by the children and was perhaps a representation of their new found freedom and happiness. They were happy, of that Adelaide was sure, but they were happiest when Miss Emily was there, particularly Ruthie. When Adelaide or Bert played the old piano and Emily sang Ruthie would climb onto her lap and cuddle in close. Emily's arms would instinctively wrap around her and she would kiss the new growing curls, tight to her little head. Peter would stand close and listen, and if it was a song he knew, he would tentatively join in.

Adelaide did know, however, that Emily wasn't happy in her role as a nurse. She knew this because instead of taking the tram home each day she would walk off her temper so as to be gentle with the children. She had confided in both of the older people that she was sure Sister was trying to find a way to have her dismissed.

"You'd go back to Canada, wouldn't you?" Adelaide asked, one evening when not even the walk home had soothed her completely.

"That was my plan before all this happened, now, I don't really know what to do," she blew her nose, "I can't leave Peter and Ruthie, not now, but I don't want to take them away from you. I couldn't have done this without you, but without a position I won't be able to pay for us to stay here. I've saved enough for my passage home and I will probably be able to afford to take the children with me, but ..."

"Wait until after Christmas," Adelaide patted her hand, "the children are looking forward to it."

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It was decided not to spoil the children but on Christmas morning, before Emily headed to the hospital for a half shift, they opened their gifts. Peter was given books with more pictures than words in but he loved them all the same, and Ruthie gasped at the soft toy rabbit Emily had purchased for her. She went shyly over to Emily and hugged her and whispered in her ear:

"Thank you, mama."

Emily nearly burst into tears at the soft breath of the child's voice and knew that she was forever tied to both of them.

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Sister glared at her as she rushed onto the ward, in time, as usual. She noticed the brighter eyes and happy smile as she tended to each patient and wished each and every one the compliments of the season and a safe and healthy new year. Most of the other nurses had begged for the day off to spend with their families but Nurse Grace hadn't, just agreed to work for the morning. Why would a single woman, far from her home, be happy about working for half the day? Why wasn't she content to spend the whole day with the patients? Where did she have to go, who did she have in the city to spend her time with? Courting was frowned upon? Sister determined to follow her after she left.

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Adelaide had already started preparing the day's special meal and good smells were coming from the kitchen as Emily left so she was looking forward to an afternoon with the children and a fine meal with her friends. She didn't notice Sister following her, lost amongst those heading home from Christmas day services at the churches.

She watched her walk up the short path to the front door of a villa where two children watched from one of the windows. As Emily approached the door the children moved away from the window quickly and were there as the door opened.

"Miss Emily!" Peter flung his arms round her as Ruthie raised her arms to be lifted and held.

"Here I am, children!" she greeted them just as happily, "have you been good this morning?"

The little girl, Sister noted, nodded her head enthusiastically, and the boy laughed. They were well dressed and appeared well fed but if Emily Grace was a single woman and the woman that had appeared behind the children was past, well past, child bearing age, who were they? Surely the 'sainted' Emily wasn't hiding secret illegitimate children. Sister strode up the path and barked her name.

"Nurse Grace!"

"Sister!" Emily wheeled round still holding Ruthie.

"What is going on? Who are these children?" Sister demanded.

Emily placed Ruthie gently on her feet, "they are the Askham children, not that you care," she put her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at her.

"And why are they here?"

"Because they have nowhere else to go," Emily wasn't going to tell anything but the truth, "and because I love them."

"Well, there is a perfectly good workhouse ..."

"Never!" Emily all but stamped her foot as Peter's face clouded behind her. Ruthie took her hand and stepped almost into her skirts.

"You have no right!" Sister reached down and grabbed Ruthie's hand. Peter stepped forward but not before Ruthie had aimed a foot at her shin and kicked her good and hard.

Sister yelled and raised her hand to strike the child but Emily was too quick for her and caught her by the wrist.

"Don't you dare," she warned, "they are staying here and there is nothing you can do about it."

"We'll see about that," Sister snarled back and stormed down the path. Emily's shoulders slumped as she walked back into the house, Ruthie held firmly on her hip and her other hand on Peter's shoulder. There was a battle ahead, she knew it, and it was one she was determined to win. For now, it was Christmas Day and she was not going to dwell on it. Tomorrow she would have to deal with it, but not today.

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With the warm glow of a happy Christmas day in her heart Emily headed to the hospital on Boxing Day. Even knowing she was about to walk into trouble she could not keep the smile off her face - Peter had called her 'mum' as she tucked him into bed. True he was half asleep, but, to Emily it settled things, and even if she had to do a midnight flit, as Miss Adelaide had suggested, they were her children, now, and nothing Sister could cook up was going to change that.

For a week she worked on the ward under Sister's eagle eye, always wondering when she would be called to answer for her decision.

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It was just into the New Year when the call came.

Before she had finished tying her apron she was summoned to the Hospital Board. She stood outside the room and smoothed down her apron and patted her hair, checking her cap was set correctly, then knocked and waited to be admitted.

There was a chair in front of a long table behind which sat five worthy persons. Two women and three men; one of the women was stony faced and elderly, the other was younger, perhaps in her forties and trying not to smile. Of the three men two were perhaps in their fifties and the last slightly younger, all looked stern but not unfriendly. They all had papers in front of them which Emily was sure contained details of the Askham case and probably Sister's opinion of her, which would be personal and likely judgemental.

They came straight to the point, and that point was that she had kidnapped two children. She strenuously denied that it was kidnapped and they allowed her to tell the story of how she came to be caring for Peter and Ruthie. She told them she didn't think it was right they should be consigned to the workhouse if there was someone prepared to take them on and care for them as if they were their own.

"And that person is you?" one of the ladies raised an eyebrow.

"The children seem to think so," she smiled a little, "I was prepared to be appointed guardian, if I could find out how that would be done, Ruthie has started calling me 'mama' and last night as I tucked him into bed Peter called me 'mum'."

"And during the day, when you are at the hospital?" one of the older men asked.

"Miss Green looks after them, she is teaching Peter his letters and sees they are fed and are comfortable." She looked along the table at the questioning faces. "Miss Green is the sister of the police officer who investigated the case, he knew the family."

"I see," he hummed, "there is a children's home near here, you know," he linked his hands together and placed his elbows on the table.

"Quite crowded, I believe," she and Bert had momentarily thought about the home but after looking into it decided against it, "another two mouths to feed ..." she let the implication hang in the air.

"Their parents, I see, are dead. The mother murdered by the father, a crime you uncovered."

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"A little above your area of responsibility, isn't it?"

"It was a wrongdoing, sir, and, according to the judge, it is my duty to report such things," she sat up straighter, "if he was prepared to kill his wife, what was he prepared to do to the children? I didn't set out to uncover a crime, I just used my knowledge and experience when I saw something I didn't think was right."

"Knowledge, experience?" the younger of the women who had spoken before, raised her eyebrows and her voice went up a tone.

"I was the coroner in Toronto, for a while. In that role I had to work with the police, at least do the autopsies, report my findings ..." she tipped her head and thought of those seemingly far off days.

"Yet you work as a nurse," the other, older lady noted with a sniff.

"I couldn't find work as a doctor or coroner," she shrugged, "nobody seemed to take me seriously. Nursing gives me an income, a way to support myself, and the children."

"Did you apply here?"

"Your coroner, Dr Wardman, dismissed me, said he wouldn't have females in his morgue."

"And then you go and turn his finding upside down and prove it was murder, I don't expect you have endeared yourself to him at all, now."

"No, I don't suppose I have," she admitted with a sigh.

"You still plan to care for the children?"

"Yes, if I can," she sat forward. "Don't you think they deserve a chance of a better life? I do, and if I can give them that life ..."

"What if you decided to return to Toronto?"

It was the one question she hoped they wouldn't ask, because it was the one thing she had turned round in her mind so often it made her dizzy. She drew herself up, "then I would take them with me. I have friends there," at least she hoped they were still friends, George, Detective Murdoch, Julia, Henry, Inspector Brackenreid ... "I would have support and I would be able to practice as a doctor."

"Would you wait outside, please."

It was a sudden stop to the interview but she supposed there was little else to say.

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While she waited she made plans, Plan A and Plan B: Plan A was she was allowed to keep the children and formal means would be put in place to do that, then she would think seriously about going home. For that she would have to write to George, or Julia to put things in place, she would need a home suitable for two children and a nanny/housekeeper. On a salary there she could afford it. Plan B was she stayed in England with the children, carried on nursing and living with the Greens, not an unpleasant proposition, but she would still strive to find a position more suitable to her training and qualifications. She watched Sister approach the door and enter the board room.


	2. Chapter 2 Decisions

The ward sister flounced out of the board room and tossed her head as she passed Emily, still sitting on the hard chair in the hall.

What had happened?

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What had happened was that the ward sister had been found wanting in the execution of her duties. The hospital board had questioned her as to her opinions on Emily's work ethic, the way she carried out her duties and the relationship she had with her patients, and all her answers had been negative, harsh and quite frankly, dear reader, painfully subjective - she did not like Emily Grace - at all!

But - and it was a big but - all the evidence the board had collected was to the opposite, Emily Grace was very much appreciated by the patients, she was charming, gentle and considerate, and, as word had got round that she had uncovered the true reason for Mildred Askham's demise, even the nurses who had previously considered her an odd sort of female had become to regard her as something of a heroine.

They had been to the house to see the children and found them quiet, understandably, simply but well dressed and polite, though Ruthie barely said a word. When Peter was asked his opinion of Miss Emily and what she had done for them, he replied that she was very kind and that it was a good thing she had done. It was decided he was too young and not educated enough to truly give words to his feelings so they would leave it that the children were content.

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"Well, ladies and gentlemen," the chairman surveyed his colleagues, "I believe we are all of the same mind, and, though our decision is unusual I think it is the right one, that we suggest Dr Grace adopts the children. That way, should she ever decide to return to her native Canada the children can go with her. Agreed?"

"Well, at least we won't be left with them," the older of the two ladies huffed, "adoption means we don't have to worry about them, again."

"Hm," the Chairman mused, "you seem uncertain. Do you not think she is capable? She seems rather able to me, organised and determined to do the right thing by the children."

"I think it is right," the younger of the two ladies ventured, "I mean adoption would give the children more stability, less likely to run off the rails and become criminals."

"Indeed," the other older man nodded, "I think we should tell her that it is adoption of the children, then she can do with them as she will - but I am sure, she will do the best by them. I have a feeling there is more to Dr Emily Grace than we see, she has empathy towards these two little ones."

They called her back in and put their suggestion to her.

"Goodness!" she gasped, "adoption, well, I never considered that as an option."

"So ..."

"Well, " she tipped her head, "I think, all things considered, the children ought to be consulted. I mean it is their lives we are talking about, isn't it?"

"Hm ..." the Chairman considered, "I suppose it might be a good idea, though it is unusual."

Emily knew little about adopting children but she wasn't surprised that the children's wishes didn't come into it.

"May I give you our decision tomorrow?" She smiled, "I shall talk to Peter and Ruthie when I get home."

"Of course."

Now all she had to worry about was her post and whether or not Sister had found a way to have her dismissed, though she seriously doubted it. There again, if she adopted the children she could always take them to Canada, things, she thought, were looking up.

"Will I still be allowed to work here?" might as well ask the question and get it all over with.

"Ordinarily women with families do not work," the Chairman hummed, "but, you are not married so perhaps we should see how things go, eh? That said we think you should not work on the ward you are currently assigned to so we shall see how you go on another."

Emily knew it was only a stop gap but while she went through the adoption process it would keep her and the children fed and clothed, she hoped.

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With the news she now had she headed home with a lighter heart. She had completed her last day on the ward though it had not been a happy time; sister had glared at her from start to finish but it was over now and she had things to talk about with the children. She hoped they would be happy and understand what it actually meant for them but also that it would assure them that she loved them more than she ever thought she would love a child.

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"Well, Miss Emily," Adelaide could not help but notice the broad smile on Emily's face, "things must have gone well today."

"Indeed they did," Emily nodded as she took of her hat and coat, "and I need to have a very serious talk with the children. I should like you and Bert to be present, though, as it will affect you."

While she was intrigued Adelaide was sure it would mean there was a chance the children would leave their home with Emily. Was she upset? Not really, she still felt she was too old to be taking on youngsters though she was fond of them, so if they were to move on she would be happy for them.

Over dinner even Peter noticed she was lighter of heart, though she still would not say what had made her so happy, she would talk to them after dinner, but before bedtime.

With the children bathed and dressed in their nightwear they settled in the parlour, but instead of starting to play the piano, Miss Adelaide sat down in a chair and watched Emily. Peter sat next to the doctor and Ruthie curled up on her knee as usual.

"Well, children, Miss Adelaide, Bert, I have news that will affect us all," she looked round the room. "As you know I went to the hospital this morning but what you do not know was that I was called to the board," she looked at Peter's puzzled face, " they're the people who run the hospital." He nodded but said nothing, knowing she had been waiting for this. "They asked me questions about you, why I had taken you away from your home, and why I had brought you here. I was honest, I told them I thought the children's home they suggested was too crowded, and that Ruthie now calls me 'mama', and you called me 'mum', Peter, when I tucked you into bed on Christmas night. I said I thought I could give you a better life than the one you had. I hope I can because they have suggested I adopt you, make you my own children ... forever. Peter, I know it is a lot to take in and probably a little difficult to understand, but I love both of you so much and want to keep you safe, warm and well fed, and, of course, happy. So, I ask you, would you like to be my children?"

Peter's eyes had grown wider as she talked and his mouth dropped open at the suggestion he could call her 'mum' all the time, and not just when he was tired or forgot himself. He loved her stories of growing up in Canada, of working hard to better herself and become a doctor and of the people she had left behind to find something that really she already had, in Toronto.

"Will we go to Canada?" he asked, finally, "I mean I know Miss Adelaide and Mr Bert are very kind," he turned to Adelaide, "thank you for looking after us when Miss Emily is at the hospital, but I would like to know if you will take us there."

"There is a chance I may do that, Peter," she admitted a serious look coming over her face, "I could find work as a doctor there, my friends would become your friends, you would go to school of course ..."

His face clouded over at that.

"Peter, nobody would know anything about your life here, unless you tell them, all they would know is that you are my son, that I have adopted you because you have no other parents and that I love you, both of you, very much. In fact, Peter, I never thought I could love a child, children, as much as I love you two."

"So ..." he closed his eyes and thought for a moment, "nobody would know what he did to ma, that he hurt her or that he beat me 'n' Ruthie?"

"No, lovely boy, nobody ..." she tipped her head and smiled, "though I might tell George and Detective Murdoch, so they will understand how much I need them to help me guide you until you are old enough to make your own way in the world. Would that be alright?"

"Um, I s'ppose so," he hummed, "if they don't go blabbin'."

"They won't," she patted his cheek. "Now, I have to tell the board tomorrow, because I told them I needed to talk to you and I need you to want this, as much as I want it, so, in the morning I would like you to tell me your answer - do you want me to be your mum?"

"Oh, Miss Emily," he threw himself at her, "I do, so does Ruthie, honest. I know she don't say much but she lets me know. She waits for you, at the window ..."

"I've noticed," Emily laughed.

"It's 'cos she's happy with you, she weren't ever happy with them. We thought about runnin' away but where was we gonna go?"

"Oh Peter, this makes me so happy," she hugged him with one arm and Ruthie with the other. "Now, bed, both of you," she laughed, "I need to talk to Miss Adelaide and Mr Bert."

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It took longer to settle the children than usual, Peter kept giving her tight hugs and Ruthie seemed to know that it was a special moment and wanted a second story, but finally she was able to head downstairs to talk to the Greens. It wasn't something she was looking forward to. They had been good to her and the children when they didn't have to and she felt a kind of guilt at the prospect of taking Peter and Ruthie away. They were sitting on the couch together when she reappeared, as if they had been talking. Bert stood up.

"Miss Emily," he smiled and waited until she had sat down, "what you are doing for the children ..." he held his hand up as she opened her mouth to speak, "... we both think it is wonderful."

"Really?" she gasped, "I thought you would be hurt, that I would take them away from you."

"Well, we will miss 'em," he admitted, "but this is an opportunity for them, a way to leave the past behind."

"We're too old to take on children, Emily," Adelaide continued, "much as I feel for them, having them permanently, well, I don't think it would be good for them."

"How do you feel about being grandparents, or adoptive ones anyway." Emily thought she understood, "we would write to you, send you photographs, let you know how they are getting on ..."

"That would be lovely," they both agreed, "we don't want to cut ties completely, but Canada ... more opportunities for them, leave their old lives, start anew, that's what they need."

"Children should have grandparents, don't you think?" she smiled, "and, although my own parents are still there, on the farm ..." she watched the astonished looks, "... oh, yes, I am a farm girl born and raised, you have been grandparents to them, here. I doubt they will forget you, and I am not planning on leaving tomorrow. I have to get through the adoption process first."

"But if the board have suggested it?" Bert scowled.

"Should go through," Emily nodded, "then I shall see when we set off for our new life - together."

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What should have been relatively easy, given the ground work done by the board, turned out to be a little more arduous than Emily had hoped. Everywhere she turned the sister who had made her life hell was there. Now referred to as 'the thorn in my side' she gave damning evidence at the first adoption hearing so Emily had to call in nurses who had secretly passed her messages of support and Bert's colleagues at the station, including the detective who had sent her to the morgue to discover the real reason Mildred Askham had died. Further visits were made by the board to the house where they found Peter and Ruthie quite happily playing or listening to stories or music, well dressed and the hair growing back, Peter's was kept tidy but still with a curl and Ruthie's growing locks were tied back with ribbons that matched her dresses. She was still silent in the company of strangers but Peter answered for them both, politely and soberly.

Two months later, on February 14th, Peter and Ruthie formally changed their surnames to 'Grace' and as they registered the adoption Peter asked, shyly, if he could have 'Albert' as his middle name and would she mind if Adelaide was added to Ruthie.

"Because," he tipped his head, "they have been so very kind to us it would be nice to remember them this way."

"I think that is a lovely idea, Peter," she ruffled his hair, "and I think they will too, shall we ask them?"

And so it was that Peter Albert Grace and Ruth Adelaide Grace set off hand in hand with Emily Grace from the court, as a family.

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"Detective, Sirs," Constable George Crabtree ran into Station House 4 and waved a letter at Murdoch and Inspector Brackenreid, "a letter!"

"I can see that, Bugalugs," the Inspector grumbled, "what of it?"

"What have you, George?" William Murdoch was kinder.

"It's from Dr Grace, she's coming home," he was pleased, he had missed her because however their relationship had ended he still regarded her as a friend, in fact a large part of his heart was given over to her. No matter that he had courted Nina and Miss Cherry, or that she had dallied with a woman, he was still inordinately fond of Emily Grace.

"Did London not suit her?" Brackenreid wondered.

"Well, there aren't many details," George scanned the paper, "and we know she didn't find work appropriate to her training, but it appears she has adopted two little children, a boy and a girl. She has asked that I find her a little house and perhaps start advertising for a nanny - housekeeper."

"She must hold you in high regard, George," Murdoch mused, "to trust you with this undertaking, but two children?"

"So she says, sir," George nodded.

As they discussed the letter Julia entered the office waving a similar piece of paper.

"William," she smiled broadly, "Emily Grace is returning."

"George has had a letter too," he held out his hand for her, "asking that he find a small house to accommodate her and two children."

Julia raised her eyebrows, "well she has asked if I need an assistant in the morgue - which I do, as it happens, I swear she has second sight ..."

"No such thing Julia," William shook his head, "but it would appear that she has written at the right time."

"Indeed she has, and I will hold the place for her, at least I know she will be up to the challenges you gentlemen pose."

"Really, doctor," Brackenreid shrugged, "surely it is the dead bodies that pose that challenge?"

"Well," she waved the comment away, "that's as may be, but what's this about children? She hasn't been away long enough ..."

"Apparently she has adopted two children," George showed her that part of his letter, "and also wants a nanny-housekeeper ..."

"I never thought of Emily as _wanting_ to be a mother," Julia mused, "still I am sure she has her reasons and the best interests of the children at heart."

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While her friends in Toronto were sorting out a home for her and the children and lining up potential nanny-housekeepers Emily was arranging passage, passports and the things they would need for a Canadian summer. She went to the bank and wired money to George to pay for the house he wrote to her about: a small bay and gable house with a garden, three bedrooms and an attic room, a parlour, dining room and kitchen. There was also a bathroom so, as George said, there was no need for a tin bath in front of the kitchen fire. It was at the upper end of her budget but as Julia had also telegrammed to say she was looking forward to working with her again she would manage.

The day finally came when she took her leave of the hospital. The chairman of the board was genuinely sorry to see her go, she was well thought of on the ward she now worked, both by patients and staff, but he knew she was destined for better things and if the powers that be could not see fit to employ her as a doctor or pathologist then she was right to leave. Toronto was lucky to have her.

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Emily and the children spent their final full day in England having a picnic in the park with Adelaide and Bert, the spring weather was just warm enough and as the children would be cooped up on board a ship and train for nearly ten days she thought it a good idea for them to have some room to run around. But the first thing she did that day was to take them all to a photographic studio and have a picture taken of the five of them. They would collect it at the end of the day.

"I want the children to remember you with more than just your names and I thought a keepsake for yourselves," she told Bert and Adelaide, "and if you ever decide to take a trip to Toronto, you will be most welcome to come and stay."

Adelaide squeezed her hand and secretly wondered if they would be up to such a trip, perhaps after Bert retired.

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Since he had had the letter from Emily telling him she was returning, George had had a lightness in his heart and a skip in his step, even when apprehending the most villainous of villains. Julia remarked upon it to William one evening, how he seemed to be so happy with Emily returning.

"Mm," he hummed in response, "the Inspector noted it was so. He says he is insufferably cheerful these days."

Julia laughed, "he really did care for her, didn't he?"

"I think he more than cared for her," William slipped his arm round her shoulders and she looked at him. William was usually the last to see any kind of emotion in his colleagues.

"I think you're right," she snuggled in close, "he was quite hurt when they parted and even more so when she became close to Lillian, though her dalliance with Leslie ... "

"I suppose she had to see if George was the one for her, before she made any kind of commitment," he took in her scent, light and floral with a slight overtone of antiseptic - from the morgue. "I think it was Lillian that was the straw that broke the camel's back ..."

"Not broken, William, perhaps a bit bent ..."

"Hm, well, may be so ..."

"I think he was more hurt over Leslie ... the difference in their upbringing, but now I see he has more confidence in who he is," Julia mused.

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Emily herded Peter and Ruthie up the gangplank, having said their slightly tearful goodbyes to the Greens. There were promises of letter writing and Emily had squeezed Adelaide's hand, insisting they were the best of friends and she would telegram as soon as they were settled.

"Just to let you know we are safe," she smiled, "I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me and for the children, we are forever in your debt."

"It was our pleasure, dear," Adelaide leant forward and kiss her cheek, "a little adventure, for me, anyway. As long as you are safe and happy, we will be too."

Peter carried a small suitcase while Emily carried the two larger ones. Ruthie had wanted to help so she was given the task of ensuring Peter's teddy bear, a gift from Bert's colleagues at the station, and her toy rabbit were got safely to their cabin.

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The voyage was, thankfully, calm, though Ruthie was unsettled for the first couple of days. Their cabin was small and housed one single bed, for Emily, and bunk beds for the children; Peter was on the higher one. They settled in and then set to exploring the ship, where they would eat, what activities were available and who else was on board. With Emily's dark hair and the children's fair hair they were immediately stared at and Peter noticed.

"Mum," he whispered, "why are they staring?"

"Well, Peter, dear," she stopped and took his hands in hers, "because I have dark hair and you and Ruthie have such lovely fair hair they are wondering how I could be your mother. But that is for us to know and I wouldn't worry your head about it. My mother's hair is just as fair as yours, or was when she was younger, so it's nothing to bother about. You could just, quite honestly say your father had fair hair but he isn't alive now."

"Oh, alright, if you say so," he shrugged.

"I do, darling boy, and never, ever, doubt my love for you, whatever colour your hair is," she ruffled his curls and smiled.

Peter didn't doubt her love, but he determined to stick very close to her and make sure that Ruthie did the same.

Deck quoits and shuffleboard, plus Peter's continuing lessons in reading and writing and maths, kept the little family occupied for the most part. The children played with some other children heading out to Canada with their parents, for a new life as well. Emily would talk to other parents but gave nothing away about her circumstances save she was on her way to take up a position and that she hoped the children would enjoy a brighter future in Toronto.

"'Tis the land of opportunity, so I hear," one mother hummed, "my James has a position at a school waiting for him, teacher he is." She looked very proud of her James.

Emily smiled and nodded but wondered if James was better educated than his wife who seemed in awe of anyone with any kind of education. Still, she shouldn't judge, she was a perfectly pleasant woman and her child, a little girl of five or six played nicely with Ruthie.

The day finally came when they docked in Toronto. Emily had written to George to tell him when they would arrive and he had telegrammed back to say he would be there to meet them and take them to their new home. She checked the cabin for any stray items of clothing, Ruthie crawled under the bunk to check for stray hair ribbons and stockings. Again she was in charge of seeing to Peter's teddy bear and her rabbit, making sure they didn't get lost.

Emily lifted the two large suit cases and Peter once again carried the smaller one as they headed down the gangplank to terra firma. Ruthie stayed close, the busy nature of the port unnerved her but Peter could barely wait, he couldn't believe that mum had really brought them across the ocean to a new life. Nobody gave him a second glance as he trotted at the other side of his sister or when they passed through the office to declare their arrival, their passports were checked and they were waved through, Peter and Ruthie were in a new country, now their lives would begin anew and he resolved to make Emily proud to be his mother.

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She scanned the area for any sign of a police officer's helmet. George was not one to let her down, or any one, if he could at all help it. As she was wondering if he had been delayed by a case she saw the distinctive bob of a helmet and his lanky frame came into view. She put down a suitcase and waved.

"Dr Grace!" he called, "Emily!" he waved and loped over to her, "sorry, I thought I was going to be late. Detective Murdoch and Dr Ogden should be somewhere near, they said they wanted to greet you, as well." He tipped his head to the side and held his arms out for a hug.

"Oh George," she stepped into the embrace, "it's so good to see you."

"I'm glad you're back, Emily, I ... I've missed you."

"Rubbish, George Crabtree ," she squeezed his hand "... I have missed you, too."

He stepped back and looked down at the two fair haired children watching them.

"So, this must be Master Peter and Miss Ruthie Grace," he held out his hand to Peter, "I am very pleased to meet you."

"Peter, Ruthie, this is Constable George Crabtree, a very dear friend," Emily smiled, "George, these are my children."

Peter almost puffed out his chest in pride at the way she introduced them. He tentatively held out his hand to shake George's.

"Emily!" a woman's voice floated through the air, "Emily!" Julia waved wildly and picked up her pace until she was hugging her so hard she could barely breathe.

"Julia!" Emily finally managed to gasp, "goodness, how well you look."

"Thank you, it's good to see you, you must tell me all about your adventures."

"Ha ha, I think these are my biggest adventure," she indicated the children, "meet Peter and Ruthie. Peter, Ruthie this is Dr Julia Ogden and Detective Murdoch who I have told you about."

Introductions were made all round then George told her he had transport arranged for them and they should go to the house.

"I hope it is to your liking," he heaved the suitcases into the carriage, "it somehow seemed like the right kind of house to have children running about it."

"I'm sure it will be just perfect, George," she smiled, having determined to like whatever he had found for her.

"It is a lovely house, Emily," Julia agreed, "and I hope the nanny-housekeeper will be the right person for you ..."

"... I asked Dr Ogden to help me find the right person for you, Emily."

"Thank you, everybody, and thank you for being here to greet us."

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They drew up outside a semi detached bay and gable style house with a neatly mown lawn laid at the front. To Emily it looked perfect and after the grim streets of London Peter thought it looked light, Ruthie's eyes widened and two fingers were pushed into her mouth.

"George, it looks lovely," she smiled, "doesn't it, children, our new home?"

Peter slid out of the carriage and stood staring. "Are we going to live here, mum?" he whispered as if saying it too loud would cause the image to disappear.

"We are, Peter," she nodded, "now, shall we go in?"

Inside the housekeeper was waiting. She was of average height, dressed soberly in grey and her hair tied in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. She was somewhere in her forties, Emily judged, and had a gentle, kind face.

"Dr Grace," George held out his hand for the woman, "this is Mrs Granger, your housekeeper. Mrs Granger, this is Dr Grace and her children, Peter and Ruthie."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, doctor," Mrs Granger held out her hand, "Constable Crabtree has told me all about you."

"Mrs Granger," Emily took the hand, "I hope we are able to work together. The children have been used to being cared for by their adoptive grandparents, this is a big step for them."

"Of course, doctor," she nodded, "well I have prepared the rooms for you, but first, tea? Perhaps some milk for the children?"

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While tea was prepared George and Detective Murdoch brought in the suitcases and took them up to what was to be Emily's room. The children peered into the rooms and up and down the landing, into the bathroom and even up the stairs to the attic room that was Mrs Granger's. Of the three main bedrooms Peter decided that the smallest was for Ruthie. It was cleanly decorated and the quilt on the single bed was decorated with flowers. There was a small chest of drawers and a pretty little basket chair that she could sit her rabbit on - when she wasn't cuddling it. His room was next door, slightly larger but with the same furnishing. The quilt had prints of trains and carriages on it and there was the addition of a small bookcase with a few picture books and elementary readers. The other room was Emily's and Peter told his sister they would have to wait to be invited in there.

They were called down for milk and biscuits and to explore the ground floor of the house. The kitchen would be where they would find Mrs Granger, there was a dining room with large table that Peter thought they could fit the whole street round, and a dresser that housed the tableware and cutlery. The front parlour was where they would spend a lot of their time, if they weren't in school or playing in the garden. It was a light, bright room, the window looking out onto the front lawn and street. There were comfortable chairs and a couch, a couple of small tables upon which sat tea trays laden with cakes and biscuits and small sandwiches, tea and milk, cups and saucers and two glass tumblers for the children. The wooden floor was covered almost to the walls with a large Persian style rug that added warmth to the room. The fireplace had a good roaring fire in it, throwing out heat that made the room very cosy indeed.

The adults sat on the chairs and couch, though Ruthie found enough room to cuddle close to Emily; Peter sat on the floor next to her feet. They tucked into the food that Mrs Granger had set out and soon learnt her story. She was a widow, of some five years. Her children had grown and gone to find their way in the world, though they kept in touch; and she had come to the decision that she could offer her services as a housekeeper or nanny to a family who needed one. Answering the call for both positions with a family she would not meet for a week or two was a chance she was willing to take and when she heard the story determined to do her best for them, it they would have her.

"Constable Crabtree and Dr Ogden have suggested a month's trial before you make the final decision, Dr Grace," she smiled, "but I hope we can work together to give these little ones the best start. I am not averse to hard work, and am frugal in my ways, there will be no extravagant purchases at the grocer's or the butcher's but you will be well fed."

"That sounds perfect," Emily sipped the tea, "I would like to speak to you in depth, in the next few days but we need to settle in first, and the children need to acclimatise to their new home. This is a whole new life for them, a new country."

"Of course." Mrs Granger nodded in agreement, "quite an adventure, Master Peter," she looked at him and smiled. He smiled shyly back but liked the title of 'Master', it sounded so much grander than 'Oi! You!', which was how his father had addressed him, if at all.

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Eventually the family were left to settle in, unpack and put away the clothes they had brought with them. Mrs Granger showed Emily she had put a laundry basket in the bathroom for any dirty clothes to be dropped in, she would then wash them the following day.

While Emily and the children sorted out their rooms, Mrs Granger prepared a light supper she hoped would suit all. Dr Grace hadn't said the children had particular likes or dislikes when it came to food but she was sure that over the next month she would learn their favourites.

Upstairs, in her room, Emily took the children to sit with her on the bed. So much had happened in the few short hours they had been in Toronto she felt they should at least have a little talk, see how they felt.

"Well, Peter, Ruthie, what do you think?" she turned to each and put her arms round them.

"I like George," Peter stated, firmly, "will he come again?"

"I'm glad you like him, Peter, he's a good friend, as are Detective Murdoch and Dr Ogden. I'm sure he will come over, from time to time." She turned to Ruthie, "now Miss, what do you think?"

Still a child of few words Ruthie looked up and smiled, "good," she nodded, "house, Ruthie happy."

Emily kissed the top of her head, "Now, Mrs Granger will look after you when I am at work, she will take you to school and collect you, but first I need to find the best school for you."

Peter still didn't like the idea of school. Not that he'd ever been to one but he'd heard stories, not good ones.

"Everything will be fine, Peter," she tried to reassure him, "I had a good time at school, you will make friends with other children ..."

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They all ate together in the dining room. Emily wasn't used to having a 'servant' so had decided, when she had asked George to see if he could find someone to housekeep for her, that she should be regarded more as a friend who she paid, and would eat with them and perhaps keep her company in the evenings, as she would be the only other adult in the house.

She had arranged with Julia that she would start work in two weeks time, giving her some time to show the children round the city, where Station House Number 4 was; in case they needed her; the parks they could walk in and look at the schools. Perhaps Mrs Granger could help her there, if her children had been raised in Toronto she may have a better idea of the smaller elementary schools.

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The two weeks flew by. Emily and Mrs Granger, Rachel, got along well enough for Emily to bring forward the permanence of her post, and the children were comfortable with her around.

Peter liked having his own room but Ruthie, who had a tendency to wake in the middle of the night, would slip out of her bed and crawl in with Emily. Emily spoke to Rachel about it, saying that although she didn't mind she didn't think it was too good for Ruthie.

"She is just making sure you are still there," Rachel leant against the kitchen table, "try taking her back to her own room immediately. Tuck her in like you do when you put her to bed at her usual time and promise to see her in the morning. She'll get used to it."

"Hm, I'll give it a go, but sometimes I will get called out in the middle of the night, to attend a death so I might not be here in the morning," Emily sighed.

"Maybe, my two were the same, it worked in the end."

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Emily took Peter to school, a small elementary school that she hoped would suit his needs. She had explained enough about his early life to the Head master and they had thought that attending in the mornings for the first two or three weeks was probably the best. Rachel would collect him to take him home for a light lunch and he would spend the afternoon with Ruthie either in the garden or going for a walk with her and Rachel. She watched him go in with his teacher then lifted her shoulders and headed to the morgue to see Julia. She supposed the nervous feeling was part of being a mother.

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Peter was shown his classroom and introduced to a quiet boy, Saul, to show him around and provide some kind of friendship. He was seated at a desk at the front, so his teacher, Miss Roberts could keep an eye on him and see that he was keeping up, or at least trying to. Peter was pleased to see his accent wasn't remarked upon after Miss Roberts had told the class he had come from London, England. He survived the morning, Saul didn't stick close to him, just kept him in sight and made sure he got to wherever he had to be. He told him about school life, what the lessons were and where everything was, like the playground.

"It's ok, here," he shrugged, "better than the last place my parents put me, there they used the cane a lot and we had to do drill instead of have free time in the playground. Here we're allowed to play our own games. What did you do at your school in England?"

"Er ... I was taught at home," Peter stuttered, "my dad didn't like the school."

It wasn't quite a lie, but not quite the truth either. He'd tell mum when he got home, just to check it was ok to turn the tale round, after all he had been taught at home, by Miss Adelaide, so it wasn't far from the truth, he supposed.

"Oh," Saul hummed, "hope you like it here, though, we could be proper friends. Do you know anybody else in Toronto?"

"Friends of mum's," he smiled, "Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree, they're at Station House 4."

"Wow! Coppers? "Saul's eyes widened, "best be on my best behaviour, then," he laughed and dragged Peter to a game of football going on in the middle of the playground.

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All in all, Peter decided as he sat eating his lunch with Ruthie and Rachel, school hadn't been as bad as he thought it would be.

In the morgue Julia and Emily had had a long discussion about what her role would be. As well as acting as Coroner's assistant, Julia asked Emily how she would feel about being her assistant in the work she was doing at the hospital.

"It's usually routine medical, sometimes surgery, you would deputise for me," Julia watched her friend for her reaction.

"Well, medical, yes, but surgery, I'm somewhat out of practice, not that I have done much in the way of operations," Emily paced the room.

"That's ok, you can do my medical rounds if I am holed up in the operating theatre," Julia nodded, "I know I can leave an autopsy to you, though."

So it was decided. Julia had been getting together a team of staff, doctors and surgeons, like minded souls who could see the value in all disciplines working together, consulting to find the best option for each patient. The hospital were happy to let her organise, the chairman of the board was supremely grateful to her for saving the life of his seriously ill son and was minded to let her have her head when it came to new ways.

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So, as time went on, things seemed to slip into place. Peter settled into school and Saul became a regular visitor to the house. His father worked long hours in a shipping office and his mother had passed away. Mr Jacobs did his best by his son but even he admitted Saul had had to bring himself up for the most part. He was grateful for Peter's friendship and for the family's generosity in letting his son spend so much time at the house.

George would pass by occasionally and stop for dinner if asked. Peter loved hearing tales of the arrests he had made. George, with his gift for story-telling, wove long tales of derring-do that had Emily smile behind her hand. She knew he was spinning tales but Peter was entranced and she let him carry on. It wouldn't hurt for Peter to have a male role model and she knew George never backed down from a challenge in his career as a police officer. He was also intensely loyal, a quality she hoped Peter would pick up. After the children had been put to bed Rachel would leave Emily to take a sherry with George, or a glass of wine. They would chat through the minutiae of the day, or a case they were working on and he would leave at a reasonable hour of the evening, sometimes with a kiss to her cheek.

"You should write those stories down, have them published," Emily remarked one evening as he took his leave, "a book of adventure stories for boys."

George just shrugged, "They're just tales, to keep Peter happy," he smiled, "I doubt anyone else would be interested."

"Peter has a friend, Saul, I bet he'd be interested," Emily touched his arm, "really, George, you shouldn't sell yourself short. After all," she reminded him, "you have had a book published."

"True," he agreed, "perhaps."


	3. Chapter 3 Fireworks

**Christmas morning**

It was the last thing Peter opened. A small rectangular gift, wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with string. It had no label save that it was for Peter. He turned it round in his hands and eventually undid the string and folded the paper back. 'Stories for Boys' by George Crabtree, in gold on a green background. He slowly opened the cover and gasped as he read the dedication: "For my friend, Peter. Nothing is impossible. George."

Emily had no idea that George had taken her idea and written the book. Peter passed it to her wordlessly, so in awe was he of the gift and the dedication, that George should call him friend. She flicked through the titles and noticed stories she recognised from his evenings entertaining her son and daughter. The fact that he had dedicated it to Peter had her blink away tears.

"George is joining us for lunch, children, you will have the chance to thank him for the generous gifts," she passed the book back. "Now, how about you put all but one thing tidy under the tree while Rachel and I see to luncheon. You can help to lay the table if you like."

Peter decided to read one story out of his new book so with him chasing his mother and Rachel for help with some more unfamiliar words and Ruthie trotting around trying to help, finishing the preparations took a little longer than either lady had planned for, and the table was still unfinished when George, Detective Murdoch and Dr Ogden arrived. The Detective and Julia had small gifts for the children and contributions to the meal. George had brought some chocolate truffles for after the meal, rich and sweet, and wine and champagne.

Emily thought she should be embarrassed that they weren't quite ready for their guests but somehow it didn't seem something to bother about. George was in high spirits and he swept every one along with his festive exuberance. Julia took Ruthie out of the way and, though he was not one for wine, Detective Murdoch saw to pulling the corks and pouring some champagne for the adults.

The table was laden with food: a huge turkey dominated the spread, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes ... everyone tucked in with gusto, even the children, though their portions were small. They tried everything that was offered though Ruthie wasn't keen on the sprouts. There was sugar pie for dessert and both children cleared their plates of the sweet treat.

"That," George sighed and leant back in his chair, "was superb. My compliments to the chefs."

"So glad you enjoyed it, Constable," Rachel smiled, "coffee in the parlour?"

Detective Murdoch stood up and held out his hand for Julia, pulling her chair back as he did so. Peter watched as George did the same for his mother and ran round the table to pull out Ruthie's chair and then Rachel's.

"A proper little gentleman, Master Peter," Rachel ruffled his hair and he blushed.

Rachel refused all help in the kitchen, insisting she could manage quite well.

"We'll help," Peter started to take table ware to the kitchen, "come on, Ruthie."

Emily wondered how much of the dinner service would survive, but Peter had helped Adelaide in London and hadn't broken anything of any import, at least Adelaide said he hadn't.

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The four adults sat in the parlour, sipping the hot coffee and talking generally about the past year.

"The children seem well settled," Murdoch remarked, "Peter is happy at school?"

"Seems to be," Emily nodded, "he wasn't keen at first but he found a friend on the first day and it all appears to be going fairly smoothly. Of course, being a boy, he does get into scrapes but nothing too serious."

"And Ruthie?" Julia asked, "I suppose she will start school next year."

"Yes, I hope Peter will look out for her, she's still very quiet," Emily mused, "she speaks when she needs to but otherwise remains largely silent."

"Perhaps her early life ..." Julia thought back to what Emily had told her, in the quiet of the morgue one day, "her father didn't sound like the type to endure a woman's chatter."

"I only saw him the day he was arrested and then in court, so I couldn't really say, but highly likely."

They talked into the early evening, Rachel provided little butter pies and small sandwiches to stave off any remaining hunger but it was really only the children that ate them. When it came time to put Ruthie to bed, Julia and William said it was also time for them to head home.

"It was truly lovely, Emily," Julia kissed her cheek, "so long since I have had a family Christmas."

"Thank you for coming," Emily held her hands, "perhaps we shall have many more such occasions."

"Thank you for our gifts, Detective, doctor," Peter held out his hand, "we shall look after them."

"You are welcome, Peter, you too, Ruthie," William shook his hand, "as long as you enjoy them we shall be happy."

Emily smiled as she watched them walk down the path to a waiting carriage. William Murdoch hadn't changed much, not since she had left Toronto or returned for that matter. Still a little unsure around people in a close family situation. It was obvious he adored Julia, but only to those who knew them. He had been quiet during the day, letting his wife do most of the talking. George came up behind her and she turned.

"He doesn't change, does he?" she murmured, to the air as much as to him.

"Oh I don't know," he smiled, "a little lighter of disposition in his work, perhaps, but still inventing new ways to solve a crime."

"So Julia says," Emily found his nearness strangely natural yet a little unnerving. "I best see to the children," she stepped to the side, intent on moving past him and back into the parlour. He caught her hand, gently enough for her to take it back, but she didn't.

"Together?" he whispered.

She just inclined her head, the barest of nods and let him follow her to the parlour.

"Come now, you two," she laughed, "time for bed. Perhaps George will read you a story, or make up another one for you."

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Changed into their nightclothes and in Peter's bedroom the children settled down to be told a story by George. Ruthie cuddled up on Emily's lap as she sat on the bed and listened while George leant against the door jamb and told a short tale of elves in Father Christmas's workshop and toys going missing. Ruthie's fingers made their way into her mouth and she fell asleep before the case was solved. Peter only just hung on and his eyes closed as the elf responsible for removing the toys was caught and was given a swift caution by his boss. He was tucked in and kissed by his mother and left to his dreams.

Emily carried Ruthie to her bed and tucked her in, kissing her forehead and wishing her sweet dreams. She turned out the light and left the room, narrowly avoiding colliding with George who was watching her from the doorway. This was exactly how he imagined family life to be, though leaving the mother of the children at the end of the evening didn't usually figure in that story.

"Nightcap?" she offered.

He just smiled that lopsided smile of his and followed her back to the parlour.

Rachel passed them and nodded her goodnight, smiling a little to herself as they closed the parlour door.

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George threw a small log onto the fire, just to keep it going a little longer and accepted a glass of brandy from Emily. He leant against the mantle and swirled the drink around. He had come a long way in his confidence since the time he thought he was not good enough for a cultured and educated woman like Emily Grace. He was happy in the company of anyone from a dock worker to a member of the Mayor's office, after all, they were only human and bled the same as he did. Most people liked him, found him amenable and quirky in his thinking. He was also fiercely loyal, a trait his closest friends and colleagues could rely on, and that was why Emily had turned to him when she was thinking of returning.

Emily was special to him. Their original 'courtship' if you could call it that, was sweet and almost innocent. Unlike his association with Nina he hadn't slept with Emily and he wondered if she had slept with Leslie Garland. He doubted it, really, it didn't look like that kind of relationship. In fact he was firmly convinced Leslie only took her out to spite him, and get close to Julia and the detective, even though he should have talked to her about the kiss when she was undercover during a case. Still, water under the bridge. He hoped that was the case with Lillian, who had turned out to be operating under an assumed name. He still wasn't sure if Emily was a committed sapphic or just experimenting.

Emily watched him from her position on the couch. She had never really watched George, not in a home situation, anyway, she never had the chance. He was more self assured than she remembered and she had never seen him with children before but now, with Peter in particular, he was strong, a role model that the boy did not have. But, at the moment, that was not the issue, the issue was, what did she feel about him? Her love life had not been something to write home about. Walks and street side hotdogs, with him, days at the lake, the occasional meal. Then there had been Leslie Garland, though she would rather not think about him; he was a cad, he had used her to get to her friend - Leslie Garland had been a huge mistake. Then there was her foray into sapphism, with Lillian whose name was not Lillian, but Helen, and looking back on it had rather engineered their relationship. Even when she had shown that she was ready to engage in a full relationship with her that didn't seem to be what Lillian/Helen had really wanted. It had been rather disappointing.

"Emily?" George's voice broke through her thoughts, "you alright?"

"Hm? Fine, thank you, George, just thinking ..."

"It's Christmas night, no deep thinking allowed," he smiled.

"Quite," she shifted a little, leaving more room on the couch and with a little nod of her head indicated he might like to sit, as he usually did, next to her.

She stared into the fire as he sat next to her. "Do you see pictures?" she murmured, "I used to look for pictures in the flames, when I was a girl."

"What did you see?"

"Oh, horses, fairies, bright colours of autumn, the occasional flash of blue ..." she looked at him, "all pure imagination, of course."

"We should all be able to imagine something other than the life we are going through," he hummed. "I used to think the flames were dancers in a fantastic ball."

"George," she teased, "you old romantic."

"Dance with me, Emily," he stood up and went to the phonograph, choosing a disc recording of a waltz. As it started he held out his hand, "Mam'zelle?"

She smiled and took his hand. His hold was perfect, as she knew it would be, and he guided her around the parlour, avoiding the furniture but never missing a beat. When the music stopped neither let go of the other.

Realising the music had stopped and they must look faintly silly, standing in the middle of the parlour with the rhythmic tic-tic-ticking of the disc punctuating the silence, Emily quietly cleared her throat.

"Thank you, George, it's been some time."

"New year?" he pondered. She nodded.

"Seems a lifetime away," she murmured.

"An old life, Emily," he stroked her cheek, "time to make a new one."

"With you?" she led him to the couch, "is that what you want?"

"I want whatever makes you happy, Emily," he kept hold of her hand, "you are, first of all my dearest friend."

"I made a bit of a mess of things, didn't I?" she picked up her glass and swirled the brandy round, "I never meant to hurt you, you know."

"I know, it's not in you, to deliberately hurt someone and maybe we have to turn off the straight road to come back to the right one."

"Can we start again, do you think, see where we end up?"

"There's a new year coming, if we start with no expectations, let the road take us where it will ..."

"I come with extras now," she laughed, "me and the children, all or nothing, George."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he leant forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Fireworks at New Year, do you think if the children have a nap in the afternoon they might make it to midnight?"

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As she wrapped Ruthie up in her warmest coat and muffler one that Adelaide had knitted and sent her (she sent one for Peter too), pushed her little hands into mittens and pulled a hat on top of her curls and ribbons Emily wondered if the little girl would make it much past her usual bedtime. Both children had been put to bed in the afternoon in the hope they would sleep for a couple of hours at least. They were both far too excited at the prospect of watching the fireworks with George and Emily was sure they hadn't really slept. She'd had to leave Rachel in charge as someone had had the nerve to die in unusual circumstances and she'd been called out to the scene and subsequent autopsy. Peter stood at the door while George tied his muffler round his neck and tucked it into the front of his woollen coat. He placed a cap on his head and gloves on his hands and then they were ready.

"Right, then," Emily took Ruthie's hand and George took Peter's, "let's go and see what the park has to offer."

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The park had a lot to offer, hot chocolate, cotton candy, baked potatoes roasted chestnuts and hot dogs, fairground rides and side shows. They went on the carousel, and tried a couple of games but all the children were really interested in was the fireworks, even Ruthie asked when they would be.

"Soon, sweetie," Emily squeezed her hand.

'Soon' wasn't really soon enough but when they did start she squealed with delight and jumped up and down to get a better view. Emily lifted her into her arms while George sat Peter on his shoulders and they cheered and 'oohed' and 'aahed' as the brightly coloured lights and bangs and whistles rent the air. Emily felt George's arm slip round her waist as the other held on tightly to her son, still perched on his shoulders. She looked up at him and a warm feeling bubbled in the pit of her stomach and she knew she had been right to come home, and to ask him to help her. She stepped a little closer and noticed a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth, this was the perfect end to one year and the perfect beginning to the next. Where things would lead she wasn't sure but she was looking forward to finding out.

_**This ends this part of the Return of Emily Grace. I hope, at some point to write a second story about the next year for the little family in Toronto and any adventures they may get into, but it is primarily a domestic story with a bit of romance thrown in.**_


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